


Once An Angel

by ahyperactivehero (ahyperactiverhero)



Series: i never knew anybody til' i knew you [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bad Reputation, Drinking & Talking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Holding Hands, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Apocalypse, Undeserved Reputation, falling, hurt/comfort bingo, mentions of episode 3 but no spoilers otherwise, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 11:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19172758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahyperactiverhero/pseuds/ahyperactivehero
Summary: Aziraphale is constantly surprised by the fact that it seems like Crowley hasn't actually done a lot of the things he takes credit for. He also realizes that they've never actually discussed how Crowley fell before.Part of a H/C bingo I'm doing on my tumblr.





	Once An Angel

**Author's Note:**

> It's been years since I've read Good Omens, but I have recently watched the TV show two times through and adored it! Note that any mistakes in the book canon are completely mine and we'll just label this a show AU then. Set in a time vaguely before the apocalypse.

There weren’t many things on this Earth that Aziraphale questioned. He had faith that things were the way they were because that’s how they were meant to be, and if they weren’t meant to be that way then they would never have been that way to start with. 

Besides, questioning things could get an angel in a lot of trouble.

Which was exactly the situation he was questioning now. He looked over to the only other being in the bookstore, Crowley, as he flicked through one of the books on the side table. He’d told the demon that he’d had some things that he’d needed to finish up before they could go to dinner, expecting the demon to take off and come back later, but instead he had surprised him.

He’d stayed.

“Who reads these things?” Crowley asked, flicking through the book again. Aziraphale resisted the urge to tell him not to do that, that flicking those delicate pages like that might cause them to rip, but he knew that if he did that Crowley would be likely to just straight up rip a page from the book based on pure pettiness.

“I do,” Aziraphale said with a sniff.

“Well I don’t know why,” Crowley said. He leaned back with a huff, allowing his body to bounce against the back of the couch. “All seems pretty boring to me.”

“Yes, I’m sure it does,” Aziraphale said. He hurried over and moved the book safely away from Crowley, briefly checking the pages as he did so. It seemed that Crowley’s rough treatment of the book hadn’t harmed it at all.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I know how to handle a book, Angel.”

A blush spread across Aziraphale’s face at the comment. “Yes, yes I know,” he said quickly. “I was just… just checking it. Very old book you know.”

The demon tilted his head to the side. “Does it really bother you when I touch your books?”

He shifted from foot to foot. “Not exactly, but, well-um, you did burn down the library of Alexandria, after all.” 

An insulted looked came to Crowley’s face. “I did not.”

Aziraphale sent him a disbelieving look. “You were there! I saw you.”

“So were you!” Crowley said. “I thought it was your lot that burned it down.”

Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to roll his eyes. “Why would Heaven want to burn down a library?”

“Heaven’s not exactly big on knowledge,” Crowley said, a slight bitterness to his tone. “Why else would they cast out anyone who asked questions?”

A silence took over the room, as it usually did when the fact that Crowley had been cast out of Heaven came up. Sometimes, although he would almost never admit it, Aziraphale could forget that Crowley was a demon, forget that he was different than him, on a different side and team and everything else.

“But didn’t you get some promotion for it? Or was that another event in the same area at the same time?” Aziraphale said, not quite ready to give up the fact that Crowley had burned down the library.

“Oh, I took credit for it,” Crowley said. “Or, rather, when Lord Beelzebub came around talking about how well I had done, well, I didn’t correct her on it.” He slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Couldn’t exactly tell her that I was a bit busy doing something else, now could I?”

Aziraphale looked him over. “And what exactly was so important that it distracted you from the library burning?”

Crowley smiled, glasses moving down on his face just enough to allow Aziraphale to catch a glimpse of his yellow snake eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Aziraphale huffed. “Well, yes I would. But if you’re not going to tell me that’s just fine.” There was no way he could let him know how badly it bothered him that he didn’t know what the demon had been up to at that time. It wasn’t exactly any of his business anyways, but it still felt strange for them to have both been in the area at the same time without actually stopping to talk to each other. 

Crowley loved to pop up when Aziraphale least expected it.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Crowley said, shaking his head back and forth. “You take all the fun out of it that way.”

Aziraphale huffed again. “I’m not here for your amusement, my dear,” he said. He turned back to his books, fully intent on not letting Crowley win this one.

Crowley rolled his eyes as he made his way over to where the angel was standing. He hopped up onto the desk Aziraphale was currently organizing, putting himself right in the angel’s way. “I know you’re not,” he said, just in case he really had been upset with him. 

He leaned back on the desk and propped himself up with his elbows. More than a few books went tumbling to the floor, as well as several papers and pens that were usually stored there. “If you must know, I was trying to save some of the things inside.”

Aziraphale turned to glare at him. It wasn’t very harsh, but it was still a glare. “Liar,” he said.

Crowley raised his eyebrow at him. “Why would I lie?”

“Because you’re a demon and that’s what demons _do_ ,” Aziraphale said simply.

“Alright,” Crowley said. “But I was once an angel.”

There was another moment of silence. Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s eyes on him, watching as he froze in his place at his words. It felt wrong to constantly bring up the fact that Crowley was a demon, that he had went against the order of things and was one of the Fallen, but at the same time, that was how he reminded himself.

“Anyways, I did manage to save a few things. Don’t know where they ended up as I had to get the Hell out of there before anyone had realized what I was doing,” Crowley said. “Couldn’t exactly let them find them either. I once saw Hastur eat a whole book because he didn’t understand what to do with it.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to raise an eyebrow at that statement. “He ate a book?”

Crowley scrunched up his face. “Well, let’s just say technology isn’t exactly Hastur’s thing. He tends to be a few centuries behind.”

Aziraphale shook his head, thinking about not even knowing what a book was. And these were the types of people Crowley associated with?

“If we’re not going out, then I’m going to start drinking,” Crowley said. He slithered off of the desk and headed towards Aziraphale’s stash of wine. “No point in sitting around here sober.”

The angel watched as he uncorked a bottle of wine and drank it right from the bottle. A smile formed on his face, despite his annoyance at that, as Crowley picked up the books he’d knocked off. And if Crowley made sure that there was no damage to the books, well, Aziraphale wouldn’t call him on it.

XXX

It was already a known fact to Aziraphale that Crowley hadn’t actually invented the Spanish Inquisition (although he took credit for it), but it was still astonishing to him to hear of all the other things his friends actually _hadn’t_ done.

“So you didn’t have a hand in World War II?” Azirphale asked as they sat around, drinking wine. Crowley had already been at it for a couple of hours when Azirphale had finally given up his task to join him.

“Nope!” Crowley said, popping the _p_ a little more than necessary. “Well, I mean, I did drop the bomb on that church we were in. And I might have given some German soldiers a little bad luck, but I didn’t start the damn thing.”

It’s not that Aziraphale had exactly thought that the demon had, but it was still strange to hear it coming from him. Any other demon who was on Earth during the war loved to tell everyone exactly what they did during that time. Not that Aziraphale hung out with many demons (Crowley being the only exception), but he had still heard things.

“Wow,” he said, not knowing what else to say. 

Crowley took another huge swig from the bottle. “Why? What did you think I had done?” His voice was strange, not yet defensive but not exactly relaxed either.

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said quickly. “I had just assumed you had participated like everyone else.”

Crowley snorted. “They were idiots. The last thing I wanted to do was _participate_ with them.”

The demon stumbled to his feet and grabbed another bottle from the shelves near them. His balance was off, tipping him backwards and forwards, which caused him to miss the couch and land right in front of it. “Ouch,” he said, although there was no pain in his voice.

“What about the Black Plague?” Aziraphale said. “You had a hand in that right?”

Crowley reached out his hand in front of him, shaking it back and forth in a ‘so-so’ manner. “I was with Pestilence when he started it, but I wasn’t, like, _doing_ anything. Mainly sleeping in taverns and getting drunk, which he apparently loved the idea of and insisted on following me. I didn’t do any of the actual cursing, though.”

Aziraphale stared at his friend like he’d never met him before. Why was it that everytime he thought he’d finally thought of something truly terrible the demon had done, he’d been wrong? It was as though Crowley was the worst demon in history.

“What exactly have you done that you’ve taken credit for?” Aziraphale said, with only a slight bit of amazement.

“Well, I did the thing with the M25,” he said, counting down things on his fingers. “I brought down the mobile phone lines in all of London, I’m the reason that the internet buffers, oh and selfies! Love those things. Didn’t invent selfie sticks though, that one was all purely humans’ devilish sides showing there.”

Aziraphale was both simultaneously annoyed and awed by Crowley. How was it that one demon could have such a reputation and still have done nothing but minor inconveniences for his entire existence? 

The mischievous grin that he had come to know and lo- loath was still plastered on Crowley’s face, although it was a bit crooked. None of this was exactly anything new to Aziraphale, but still, having the demon himself tell him that all he had done was lie about his greatest achievements was still astonishing.

What would Crowley have been like had he been allowed to stay an angel? There were some jobs that angels did that did not fall into the “nice” category, although they always fell into the “Greater Good” category. Is that where Crowley would’ve been? Taking on the more difficult assignments? 

Would Aziraphale have even known him if that had been the case? It wasn’t like he met up with many angels here on Earth, even less since he’d started hanging around and working with Crowley more closely. 

The thought sent something sharp through his stomach. If they had both stayed angels they likely wouldn’t have become...friends or whatever was the appropriate word for their relationship. It wasn’t proper to be friends with a demon, but Aziraphale doubted anything about his feelings were proper when they were towards Crowley.

“What did you do when you were an angel?” Aziraphale asked. He hadn’t exactly _planned_ to ask the question, not really, but he’d had far more than a few drinks by this point and holding anything back was hard for him when it came to Crowley.

The grin, which always seemed like a challenge to Aziraphale, dropped from his face. It was instead replaced with a tight lipped thin line that made his displeasure of the topic quite apparent.

“Can’t remember,” Crowley said, waving the hand holding the bottle of wine. He quickly chugged the rest of the bottle before wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “What’s it matter anyways?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose. I just wondered if we would’ve- well, that is to say, I wondered if we could’ve been friends if you had been angel.”

Crowley frozen, staring at Aziraphale with wide eyes. His glasses had been taken off at some point, although the angel couldn’t exactly remember when. He stared back at him, taking in those yellow eyes he usually didn’t get to see.

“I better go,” Crowley said. He dropped the bottle against the rug, somehow miraculously not breaking it. His legs were more than a little wobbly, but he did manage to get to his feet with a little assistance from the couch.

“Wait,” Aziraphale said, slightly panicking. This isn’t what he had wanted. He hadn’t meant to drive the demon away (honestly, he didn’t think it was possible to do that), but here he was, leaving because of something Aziraphale had asked.

He reached out a hand, grabbing the demon’s arm. If he could just stop him then they could go back to drinking, go back to hanging out. It would all be okay if he could get Crowley to just sit back down.

“Let go,” Crowley said, trying to wrestle his arm back. Neither one of them were putting a whole lot of strength into anything they were doing, as most of their effort was dedicated to staying up right. 

“I will if you’ll just sit back down,” Aziraphale said. “Look, we can crack open something special, whatever you want. I’ll let you pick if you just sit back down with me.”

“No,” Crowley said. “I’ll talk to you later, Angel.” 

“No,” Aziraphale said, his voice quite. There was that something sharp in his stomach again, begging for him to stop Crowley from leaving. “Crowley, please, stay.”

A few choice four letter words fell from Crowley’s lips as he wretched his arm from Aziraphale. The force threw him off balance, causing him to fall into the end table before he hit the ground. Books, papers, pens, and bottles crashed down around him, the glass finally shattering.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, stepping towards him. “Are you alright?”

“Shut up,” Crowley hissed out. “You dont- you don’t get to do that.” He held up a finger at Aziraphale, pointing at him like that might somehow keep him back. And, if he had been sober and able to actually point at Aziraphale, it might’ve. As it stood currently, he couldn’t barely even tell which Aziraphale to point at.

“Do what?” Aziraphale asked, his hands hovered over Crowley. 

“Tell me we’re not friends and then act like you care,” he spat out. “Six thousand years and you can’t even say we’re friends. So don’t act like you care.”

He thought back on his words. “That’s not what I had meant,” Aziraphale said, although that was a lie and he knew it. He still frequently denied that they were friends, denied that his feelings for Crowley ran deeper than that. Sure, that hadn’t been what he had meant _this_ time, but there were millions of times before then that he had, and if this conversation hadn’t been happening, probably a million and one more times it _would’ve_ happened.

“It is,” Crowley said, his voice rough. He ran a hand down his face. “I just wanna go home.”

Indecision shot through Aziraphale. It wasn’t in his nature to upset people, and forcing Crowley to stay there was way more likely to do that than if he let him leave but….

If he left who knew what he might do.

Briefly, his mind went to the Holy Water he’d given him. Did he still have it? He wasn’t entirely sure, but either way he didn’t want to send the upset demon home alone with that. It went against everything in him not to try and help his friend.

And he could admit that they were friends, he supposed. He felt more than friendship towards him, most of the time, but it was probably best that he kept that part ot himself.

“Just stay here,” Aziraphale said. “You can sober up, get some rest, and then you can go home.” 

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale through his fingers and sighed. Neither one of them pointed out that demons and angels didn’t actually need to sleep or the fact that if Crowley hadn’t gotten so wasted he could’ve just flushed the alcohol from his system the way they usually did. It wouldn’t have changed anything anyways.

“Fine,” he said.

Aziraphale gave him a soft smile and held his hand out. The demon stared at it for a long moment before grabbing onto it. He allowed himself to be hauled up to his feet and led over to the couch he had previously been sitting on.

“There we go,” Aziraphale said, pushing him until he was lying down. “That’s it.”

The demon spread out on the couch, his hands coming up to rest under his head. There were pillows on the other end of the couch and a blanket on the back of it, but he didn’t seem inclined to get either of those things.

Quietly, the angel set about cleaning up the mess the two of them had made. There were several empty bottles, broken glass, books, and some take-out boxes scattered across the small area they had been drinking in, and it wasn’t in his nature to just leave them there.

Silently, Crowley watched him. At first the angel though he had fallen asleep, but when he’d glanced at him he’d noticed that he was just watching him, not saying a word. As Aziraphale bagged up the last of the trash and went to dim the lights he spoke.

“I don’t really remember a lot of it,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale paused. “What?”

“Of Heaven. Of being an angel,” he said. “I remember certain things, of course. Being friends with Lucifer and the rest, helping to create some stars. I think there were a few practical jokes in there… But the rest of it,” he moved a hand out from under his head to wave through the air. “It’s like it’s obscured. Like I’m staring into the sun without sunglasses.”

Aziraphale felt something inside him clench at the sadness in his friend’s tone. What was it like to not remember part of your life? Especially such an important part that had impacted every other aspect afterwards.

He’d lived a long life, he knew, and Heaven knows he’s forgotten more than any human would ever learn, but it still felt wrong for Crowley to not be able to remember anything.Was that one of the punishments? To not be able to remember Heaven?

“Maybe it’s best to not be able to remember anything from the Fall,” Aziraphale said softly. 

A snort of cynicism came from Crowley. “Oh, I remember the Fall,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

Again Aziraphale froze. He stared at his friend, watching as his yellow eyes seemed to glaze over, whatever he was remembering taking away whatever part of him had remained with Aziraphale. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, not knowing what else to say. “I’m sorry that I brought it up. It’s obviously a sensitive issue.” He shifted from foot to foot, not entirely sure how to progress from there. He didn’t want to upset his friend further, but he also didn’t want to brush him off.

“We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” Aziraphale said. “Just say the word, and I’ll never mention it again.”

Crowley stared at the angel like he was, well, an angel. There was amazement so genuine that it almost hurt to see on the demon’s face. Demons were supposed to be mean, hard creatures who bribed, maimed, and killed people, and not look at angels like they had invented sunshine, rainbows, and weighted blankets (although Heaven did have a hand in sunshine and rainbows, no one in Heaven had invented weighted blankets. He was pretty sure that was all humans).

“Thank you,” he said. He was quite for a moment, clearly trying to decide whether or not he wanted to keep talking or not, but eventually he seemed to come to a decision. 

“I’ve never really talked about it before,” Crowley said quietly. Aziraphale sat down on the floor next to him, grabbing a hold of his hand to let him know that he was there for him.

“All I remember is hearing God’s voice. She was so angry, but I don’t know why. I asked Her a question, something stupid, I’m sure, and the next thing I knew was fire. It burned all over, like it had somehow caught on fire inside of me and was burning me from the inside out. I thought She was smiting me, that She had finally had enough of us and was getting rid of us.”

Crowley’s voice was shaking. The hand that was in Azirphale’s was clenched tightly, like someone might try and separate them from each other. Deep down, Aziraphale knew that he’d never let that happen, even if Gabriel or Michael walked in the room right now. His friend needed him, and he’d be actually damned if he wasn’t going to be there for him.

“Then I was falling,” he said. “Although, it wasn’t really falling. It was like a bullet being fired from a gun straight towards Hell, or what would become Hell anyways.” He licked his lips, pausing in his story. “My wings suddenly didn’t work. Something was wrong with them. It was like they were tied together or weighed down or something.”

Aziraphale thought of Crowley’s wings. They were beautiful, black wings and obviously well cared for. It was almost impossible to get them to shine like that without some sort of regular care. 

“Did you know my wings used to be white?” Crowley asked. His voice was lighter, almost like he was losing track of himself. “They were these big, bushy white clouds and then when I Fell they turned into these things.”

“I quite like your wings,” Aziraphale said before he could stop himself. A blush spread across his face as Crowley looked at him with surprise and amazement again. “They’re different. Not much difference in wings in Heaven.”

Crowley’s eyes gazed into the distance as he thought about that. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “All ‘angelic white’ up there, hm?” He gestured back behind Aziraphale, where his wings would be if he had materialized them. “But I like yours. I like them because one, they’re yours, and two, because I know that if I touched them they’d be softer than any angel’s in Heaven.”

The blush seemed to be a permanent feature on Aziraphale’s face now. “Oh, shush,” he said, tapping his hand lightly like a teach to a disobedient child.

“It’s true,” Crowley muttered. He closed his eyes, leaning his head towards their clasped hands. He rested his face on top of their hands, clearly intent to use them as a pillow.

“So what happened then?” Aziraphale asked softly. “After you Fell?”

“Hmm,” Crowley said, his brow bunching up. “I landed in sulphuric acid I think. It’s what finished the whole ‘paint it black’ thing on me.” He rubbed their hands up near his eyes. “I think it’s also what changed my eyes, because when I came out of the pit I couldn’t see properly. There were others around me, angels that had Fallen sooner, who were saying the same thing.”

Faintly, Aziraphale wondered what Crowley’s eyes might have looked like before the Fall. It didn’t matter now, as the deed was done and he loved Crowley’s current eyes, but it was still a question.

“Lucifer and Beelzebub stepped up then, telling us all what we would do. Some of us got new names, I think, but it’s been so long since then…” he said, trailing off. He was beginning to relax, the death grip he’d had on Aziraphale’s hand moments ago growing more lax until it was barely hanging on anymore. 

Aziraphale could pull away now, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to. He thought back to all the times they’d spent getting drunk, filling in for each other, saving each other. It seemed wrong that they’d never talked about this before, but he could understand why the demon hadn’t wanted to.

“For what it’s worth,” Aziraphale said, his voice so low he was almost positive that Crowley couldn’t hear him. “I think that we’re closer now than we would’ve been if we were both angels.” He reached over with his free hand and ran it through Crowley’s hair. The demon had had a lot of hairstyles over the years, most of them longer, but Aziraphale was getting used to the shorter hair. He wondered if Crowley actually had a preference or if he was just changing like he always did. 

“And I think that I like you better this way,” he said. “Most angels, they’re too strict. They don’t understand why humans are amazing, why someone might want to spend six thousand years down here.” He smiled gently at Crowley. “Well, humans are only part of the reason.”

He didn’t let go of Crowley’s hand, instead choosing to settle in on the floor. He’d probably let go before Crowley woke up in the morning, would probably already have breakfast ready despite the fact that Crowley almost never ate anything, but for now he was content. He’d spend the rest of the night on the floor, holding Crowley’s hand because that’s what friends did.

He didn’t think about the fact that that’s what couples did as well. That was something he’d have to think about later, when they were both a bit more sober and rested. 

He gestured with his free hand and the blanket over the back of the couch slid down over Crowley. A book also floated over to him, settling onto his lap as he stared to read out loud. Fire crackled in the fireplace nearby, mingling with low sounds of Aziraphale’s reading.

When he looked up next, Crowley was still asleep but smiling.


End file.
